The Hawk and the Spider
by LivinJgrl123
Summary: Agents Barton and Romanoff - they make up the wonderful pairing that is known by names: 'Clintasha' and 'Blackhawk'. Humor, love, friendship, family, and the commentaries of Tony await! *a collection of one-shots* *taking requests*
1. Normalcy

**Disclaimer.**

**This series is being reposted into one story. All the rest will be deleted as soon as I have finished.**

* * *

Natasha was sitting on the foot of the untrustworthy motel bed, cross-legged, her hands resting on her knees. Silence - an ongoing noise that hadn't stopped ringing since Clint had left at 0500 hours - had settled over her hours ago like a thick, heavy fog. It was getting to the point where it was suffocating the patience out of her. The usual pitter-patter of the rain was abnormally absent. It hadn't rained since last night. She knew he wanted her to stay put. He'd left a note - so unlike him - saying that he was going to go out and have a look around. So she had decided to stay put, even if the world was going to end. She was trying to her best to, especially after saving the world - _again_ - last week. The Battle of New York had been an exhausting one, and on top of that stopping mad geniuses from blowing up the Earth yesterday had also been exhausting.

All in all, everyone was pretty tired.

Clint and Natasha weren't here by choice. No, Tony had convinced Fury after what happened in New York to get the two of them away from S.H.I.E.L.D - neither of them had been surprised but both had been opposed to the idea of getting away from work - and after yesterday's early morning's events, Fury had ordered them, with Tony nearby with a smug look on his face, to get away - he'd even pay them for it. They were paid to take orders anyway, but getting paid for taking orders from Fury about taking a vacation (the very idea of it was _absurd_ to the two of them) was something they'd reluctantly followed.

Now here they were - or rather, here _she_ was - in a crummy motel room (Tony had given them their specific coordinates for their pre-chosen destination) in Seattle. Why Tony chose Seattle, neither of the assassins knew. Maybe it was Fury's idea, too. But Natasha suspected that it was all Tony's idea.

Was rain supposed to be soothing? Wasn't silence supposed to be soothing to _her_? Because it sure wasn't to her, not after the week she'd had - not after four years of being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D - and the rain would have been a blessing compared to the loudly ongoing silence.

But she was trying to do Clint a favor while he was out, because it was not in her nature to leave notes for him when she left where they were staying. He would have check a few places - places in different parts of the city, far away from each other - and it would be tiresome for him. Especially since they were on "vacation".

Natasha remembered Tony's "briefing" yesterday with a grimace. The "briefing" for their "undercover mission" hadn't been her favorite, especially since Tony had been literally spitting out what they were supposed to be.

* * *

_Tony paced back in forth of an exhausted pair of assassins on the Helicarrier. They both watched him carefully, suspiciously, scrutinizing his somewhat serious expression. Having just been ordered by Fury to take a paid vacation wherever Tony told them to go and stay "for as long as you have to"._

_Clint opened to say something, when Tony spun around to face them, his eyes intense, although it was obvious that he wasn't that serious. Or, at least they hoped he wasn't that serious. Clint closed his mouth, sharing a quick glance with Natasha._

_"Just pretend you're undercover," he said finally. "Just pretend to be normal. No spy or assassin stuff allowed. Got it?"_

_They continued to listen in in silence._

_"You know what that means, archer boy? No arrows hiding in secret pockets. No bows on the inside of your cello case."_

_"I don't play cello, Tony," Clint told him._

_"Maybe you don't know," he said, "but normal people usually know how to play something - instruments, sports, solitaire, MMO's - so I guess you're playing the cello."  
_

_"I'm pretending to play the cello, Tony."_

_Tony paused for a moment, and then began pacing again. "No, you don't have to. Okay, just - think of something normal to be, okay?"_

_Natasha eyed the genius._

_"That means think now, you two," Tony said._

_They both remained silent._

_After a few seconds, Clint asked, "why don't you go undercover and act as a civilian, Tony?"_

_"See, I'm way too important to even **act** normal. See, the world needs Iron Man slash genius to stay Iron Man slash genius. I'm too busy being awesome, but I know people who are kind of normal. I think that counts -"_

_"Just get to the point," Natasha cut in._

_Tony shrugged and paused again. "Don't hide a knife in your boot. You won't get to wear boots. You'll just hide it even if Fury tells you to. Don't take a flute case. Do you play flute? No, of course you don't, you probably play knife games."_

_She narrowed her eyes, and he put up his hands in defense._

_"I'm just saying," he muttered, and then continued. "And no hunting Bigfoot. Nothing job-related, unless it is __absolutely necessary"  
_

_"**Tony!**" they both exclaimed._

_He frowned at them, and then resumed pacing._

_"You two will act as a married couple. No **normal civilian **would believe you guys are partners in anything. They'll just think you're sleeping together and lying about it. They also won't go for the sibling act. They might have worked when you were five years old, but you're not five years old. Are you? No, you aren't."_**  
**

_He took a breath and continued on with their "rules"._

_"You two will be wearing rings **at all times**. The rings are not rigged in any way and are normal rings. Your main mission is to blend in, not kill anyone, and to be nice to people. No matter how anti-do-goody they are. Is that clear?"_

_Clint and Natasha both nodded._

_"Good. You are both from __Fairbanks, Alaska - no arguments, archer boy - and you're both grocery store owners - I know it sounds boring, spider girl - and you visited Natasha's brother's family the other day and are simply stopping for the weekend before you drive up through Canada to get home. Are we clear so far?"_

_Again, the two assassins nodded._

_"Spider girl, your names will be Frankie and Eloise Donovan."_

_Natasha frowned._

_"Yes, spidey, I am making these up as I go - don't worry, if you have any issues with my plan you can just fill in any blanks, use your killer imagination. You only have one uncle. Go wild with the name and family. Make something fun up. Can assassins make fun cover stories up? I don't know. Anyways," he said pointedly after receiving a quick, exasperated look from Clint, "here are the rules you must follow **to the letter**: have fun, don't kill anyone, try to blend in, don't actually become Spider Girl and Legolas, okay? It will do us all a favor. Oh, and avoid as much contact as you can with anything S.H.I.E.L.D-related all weekend. Unless you have to. Which I'm pretty sure you won't have to do."_

_Natasha opened her mouth, but he cut her off, and paused again to face the two of them. "You guys will not only get paid on your vacation - I know you get paid like it's a regular work day - but you'll get paid extra. That should be a motivation. Right? Am I right? Wait, don't answer that - I know I'm right. You'll just deny my obvious genius-ness as usual. Are we good?"_

_He waited two seconds, and they had barely opened their mouths to object to this whole thing when he chirped:_

_"Alrighty, then! Dismissed!_

* * *

Natasha was now done waiting. It had been over six hours of sitting. She'd eaten, showered, and was dressed as a civilian - as much as she disliked it. She wore a black t-shirt, sweatpants, ankle-socks (why the type of sock had mattered to Pepper [ she had assisted Tony in helping out with their "normal attire" ] was a mystery to her) and her sneakers were by the front door. Her black, hoodless jacket was draped over a chair to the left of her, just outside the bathroom door. Upon that same, dust-covered chair was Clint's backpack of things. "Normal" things had gone in there (toothbrush and paste, dental floss, deodorant and perfume [perfume had been unnecessary in her opinion, but of course it hadn't been her choice] their "civilian" flip phones that couldn't even get email, and a few other items), Tony had made sure of that. They shared one suitcase, which a few agents from S.H.I.E.L.D had double-checked, tipple-checked, and re-triple checked both it and its contents thoroughly for any hidden devices or weapons of any kind. They each had pairs of civilian clothes. Fake ID's had been handed out fairly quickly (in a span of ten minutes) and they each had their own wallets. Natasha had been opposed to purses. Tony had allowed her to have her way on that, thankfully.

Clint had left the motel room with an attire similar to her own, except he wore more leather and denim than she did, and they shared an old red, pre-2000 sedan that was made to look like it was ready to break down at any moment. Now, Clint could manage cars well. He just didn't trust non-government issued ones. It was parked right outside in case they had to make a speedy getaway, especially because they knew that without any weapons to help aid in defending themselves (although in hand to hand combat they were perfectly fine in most scenarios) running would be the best way out of anything, no matter how much they'd rather not.

Orders were orders, though.

Natasha stood up, stretching, a yawn escaping her lips. She knew they both felt extremely unprofessional. It was Saturday afternoon, and for once, they weren't working. They didn't have any knives, guns, bows, arrows, or even any training to go to before 0400 hours. Sleeping in had actually been nice, although at first the Black Widow had been alarmed by the idea of doing something "normal" that she wasn't usually permitted to do. But Clint had convinced her to just lie awake as long as she could, if she had to. To her surprise, he'd fallen asleep after telling her this and had been up and about before 0900 hours, before her. It had actually relaxed her, after the past week or so's events. Saving the world was a hard thing to do, she had to admit.

She shuffled her feet, her posture relaxed - she felt so unlike agent she was, feeling the way she did - as she made her way over to the chair. She took the well-worn jacket off the back of the chair and slipped her arms for the sleeves, adjusting it till it was snug against her skin and zipped up to the hollow of her throat. Thankfully, no wig had been needed in her false identity and she could go about Seattle as she was, as long as she didn't do anything... out of the ordinary.

**Ordinary**.

It wasn't something she really enjoyed. When undercover, she had a mission to focus on - she had to act it to do what she could to get an assignment done - but this time she didn't really know how to handle it. Now she had to lie, but not because of a target or because of an object, but because she was actually supposed to _try_ to blend in with the rest of the world. She didn't really know how to start conversations, she couldn't think of any interests she shared with any "normal civilian" because, well, she was an assassin. One of the best. And partner to Clint. Also one of the best. Maybe he was handling this better than she was.

She went over to the door and put on her shoes, frowning slightly as she tied the laces. She was so used to having boots. And combat-gear. And at least one weapon hidden on her person.

She went back over to the bed, picked up the motel room key, and went back to the door, stepping outside and shutting it, locking it. She wished she was in her own quarters, on the Helicarrier - they were so much more secure than this untrustworthy room. She'd scoured the bed for any pressure plates, made sure there weren't any bugs, checked for cameras - anything that would alert her to something that would give her cause to get away from this "vacation".

Outside, it was cold. The sun hadn't come out, and it didn't look like it would any time soon. She could smell rain in the air, she noticed people out in about, in their cars and walking across streets, turning corners, and passing each other by without even a glance to another. It was odd. No one was suspicious of the stranger passing them by. They had no idea who the person standing next to them in line for coffee was, they had no idea what secrets their coworkers kept, they had no idea about anything - few ever did. She wondered how they could all be so naïve all the time.

She allowed her eyes to scan her surroundings for a brief moment before crossing the motel's parking lot and heading down what looked like the safest street. But she didn't know the layout of the area she was in, she didn't know the backgrounds of everyone who lived around here, she knew nothing about this part of Seattle. She didn't even know what was around the corner from the motel.

She wondered - not for the first time - when her hawk would be back. Sometime soon, she hoped, and she hoped she would beat him to the motel room so he wouldn't be locked out and left outside to do nothing but wait for her. That scenario was unappealing in her mind's eye.

Natasha wasn't thrilled with this knowledge, but she crossed the street and went on with her instincts at hand.

As soon as she was out of the motel's sight, the rain finally began to fall, shattering the ringing silence that had taken over the empty motel room that awaited the the spider and the hawk's return.

* * *

Clint was satisfied. He wasn't happy. No, satisfied was the better word for the emotion he had after a day of checking out the city to see if there _were_ any threats in a twenty-mile radius of their motel room. In his hands were two bags filled with takeout food from a place called the Elheart - one of the fanciest restaurants in town. He had a friend there who knew a friend who knew the owner and had managed to get some food that he knew Natasha wouldn't hate and that they could both eat. He was sure that normal people didn't even eat at the Elheart. You had to have a four-month's reservation to get a parking space. Normal people didn't have takeout from places like the Elheart - but normal people ate takeout of some sort, didn't they?

When the motel room was in sight, and he was a block away, the rain began to fall, causing him to break into a leisurely jog. He crossed the street and ran the rest of the way through the parking lot and arrived at their room. He placed his hand on the knob and turned, and was surprised to find it locked. He allowed himself a small smile. He really hadn't expected his spider to be able to wait that long for him - and he had been right. She had probably gone off either to find him, do some looking around of her own, or merely sight-seeing because although her credit cards (courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D) could never be maxed out, that was really all she could do. Buying large amounts of anything - or buying something expensive - wouldn't appear average, would it? No, he decided. He couldn't say for sure what she was doing, but he knew she'd be back at least before 2100 hours. The food could be reheated in their microwave oven if need be, and he felt more relaxed than she probably was. Then again, waiting wasn't really her thing if there wasn't something that needed either stealing, killing, or destroying. He understood she needed to do something on Saturday. While other people could sit around and sleep all day, she could not.

Clint sat down against the door, leaned his head back, putting the bags of food underneath his coat to shield it from the rain since there was no overhang where their room was, and closed his eyes.

He would await the return of his spider.

* * *

When Natasha returned, she was shocked at what she saw. Clint had fallen asleep by the door, and she could smell something good. He'd brought them dinner. She allowed herself to smile as she walked up to him, crouched, and inspected him for any signs of injuries. Seeing none, she decided it was safe to wake him up.

"Agent Barton, you're sleeping on the job," she stage-whispered.

"Agent Romanoff," he greeted her, as if he were wide awake, but he didn't move. The look on his face told her he was perfectly content, soaking wet for the most part and well-rested. He slowly opened his eyes and brought his head forward, smiling as her eyes met his own. He noticed that she, too, was soaking wet. Her hair was plastered across her forehead and her clothes were dripping water into a puddle at her feet.

He held out his hand and she helped him up. He grinned as her eyes saw the food under his left arm. "Where'd you get that?" she asked as she handed him the room key and watched as he opened the door. Ushering her inside, he said, "it's just takeout."

They both smiled as they shut the door, blocking out the rain and the rest of the normal, ordinary world - a world cruel, confusing, and deadly, that they were going to ignore for tonight and all of tomorrow, and pretend it wasn't there.

The motel room was no longer blanketed in silence.

The spider and hawk had returned.


	2. Torment

Agent Natasha Romanoff was not scared of much. No, very little even got the jump on her. Little in the world terrified her, whether it was because she'd seen it, experienced it, heard of it, or simply knew of every bad thing out there in the world that so much crueller than it let on. Because although the hardened assassin feared very little, there were a few things that could best her in a war of being scared or not. One thing that could cripple her ability to handle nearly any situation, one thing that could destroy the composure that she'd kept since she'd learned to fend for herself, one thing that represented the bit of weakness she kept guarded under layers of layers of training and self-loathing, turned into many things. These things were memories. Of what had happened to her, of what she'd been through, of what she'd seen - before S.H.I.E.L.D. _Before Clint._

Said memories - those memories that she tried so hard to bury, to push aside, to ignore, those memories that would haunt her forever, that in no way would ever leave her - turned into monsters that she could not kill, that she could not shoot, that she could not fight all by herself. Those monsters were her nightmares. She couldn't face them by herself, she couldn't fight them with her fists, she couldn't keep them at bay while she slept.

When Natasha had these nightmares, before she'd been given her second chance, before Clint, the only way to deal with them had been to work, nonstop, so she couldn't sleep - couldn't face any of the memories, any of her past. She'd accepted it long ago - that didn't mean she wanted to relive it while she slept.

Although she couldn't make them leave forever, she knew of only one thing that could make it easier to deal with, at least.

Said thing was a person.

And said person happened to be her partner, Clint. The one who'd given her the second chance, the one who'd allowed her to live. He'd saved her - given her something new, something better than the life she'd had before. And it was all because one of the agency's top snipers.

They hadn't actually slept together, despite their obvious chemistry, but they'd been sharing beds since they'd become partners, when he'd brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D's attention, that she could be useful to them alive instead of dead. It was just how they worked. Clint and Natasha had both gone through a lot - he'd told what he'd gone through growing up - and they both enjoyed each other's company as much as it was a necessity for survival. Without Clint, there was no Natasha. Without Natasha, there was no Clint. There _could_ be Black Widow without Hawkeye, and vice-versa, but one without the other would mean that they were both incomplete - and they didn't intend on going their separate ways any time soon. They were their own Yin and Yang. They were partners.

But when they were separated - on different sides of the planet, no less - they felt incomplete.

And at times like these, when one was on a mission and the other oddly hadn't been assigned to another or to go along with said other, they found themselves eager to get back to the other.

Natasha was in her quarters, alone, sitting on the edge of her bed, furiously cleaning all her weapons. The ones she'd cleaned already were in a heap on the floor and the ones that needed another go at were behind her. The silence was heavy and haunting, reminding her that her partner was absent. Waking up and not hearing the comforting sounds of him breathing in and out, wake up and not feeling strong arms around her, especially after this horrendous nightmare, was something she hated reliving time and time again. She _could_ relive it, and she _could_ get through it by herself, and she _could_ try to rebuild her composure on her own, but it just wasn't worth the effort tonight.

Clint should be back in the morning, at 0700 hours, or at least somewhere around that time. She knew he was either going to be late or early. She hoped it was going to be the latter, but she didn't know anything about the mission. And that angered her. What was he up against? What was his task? Who was he going to kill? What if he got captured, and if he did, what would happen to him? There was always the tiny possibility that he might not come back from a mission, that she might not, and they had agreed with Fury that if either were killed, he should not give either of them a new partner. They completed each other and could not replace their Yin and Yang.

It was only at times that she allowed herself these cumbersome, useless, _irrational_ thoughts. There was no sense in worrying. Clint was Hawkeye, after all. He could take care of himself, as could she, but she couldn't help it. This nightmare that she'd had - all she remembered was feeling useless, so useless, and images that normally wanted to make one expel the contents of their stomach briefly flashed through her mind, and not for the first time since waking an hour ago - it had been bad, and if Clint had been there to simply hold her as she tossed and turned, it would be so much better. _He_ made it so much better, every time he could manage to make her feel just a little bit safer with the memories she tried her best to lock away.

It was about 0300 hours. Each second that went by felt like a lifetime to her. To pass the time just a little bit faster, she continued to clean her weapons, her eyes fixed on her hands as they worked. They weren't just hers, though. A few of the Clint's - the ones he kept in her quarters just in case he left his bow and quiver in his quarters while in hers - was thrown into the pile behind her. His arrows, his guns, his own contraptions - she cleaned them. Over and over again.

_Over and over and over again..._

Natasha had cleaned all the weapons in her quarters and finished them at exactly 0400 hours. Now she was simply sitting, legs crossed, her fingers drumming against her thighs in an uncharacteristically impatient manner. She'd woken up in a freezing sweat that had left her hair plastered to her forehead and her sleep-wear dampened. Now she left with a chill that caused goosebumps to break out, covering her arms and legs, but she remained still, aside from the drumming of her fingertips against the exposed, soft skin of her thigh. She flopped back, her composure broken, and kicked her legs against the bed like a child having a fit and let out a sound of utter frustration It was irritation to fear the feeling that creeping slowly back into her bones, the familiar feeling that had kept her distant until Clint had found her. It was this feeling that was cold, that numbed all her emotions and feelings - every single one of them except the pain that she'd known since childhood.

It was the pain of being alone - and it was even worse this time because it was happening again.

Natasha rolled over on her side, her hands gripping the sheets for a brief moment she sat up again. Then she flopped back down, arms and legs stretched out, her eyes on the ceiling. She needed to get something done, she needed to do something to keep her exhaustion and loneliness at bay. But what could she do?

She mentally began going through her options, but none of them sounded appealing in the slightest. Training was a no - she didn't want to spar with anyone else, and eventually one would ask to be her sparring partner. She'd get too much attention and she desired little to none human contact at the moment - with exception of her hawk, of course.

It felt so abnormal, him not lying beside her right now. If Fury hadn't sent him away because of an "emergency" and he'd left with barely a goodbye to her. No one liked separating the two of them - alone, they were some of the best the world would ever know now because of the whole Avengers situation, but together, they were _the_ best pair of assassins. Indeed, they were the S.H.I.E.L.D's definition of Yin and Yang. Clint was no doubt going to walk through her door with an exhausted look on his face and flop down on the bed, demand that she close the blinds and stay with him as he napped, and she would no doubt get up as soon as she was sure he was sound asleep and grab some food for the both of them to eat by themselves. But without her Yin, she was no Yang. And she wanted him here. In her bed. Next to her. Sleeping soundly with an arm thrown across her which would draw her closer to him as she laid awake, comforted by his solid presence.

Natasha didn't know it, but her eyes had closed, and she had fallen back into that black abyss that she'd done her best to stay away from.

* * *

_"Nat."_

Natasha could hear Clint's voice through her nightmare, through the thick fog of terror and torment, and fought to climb out of her dream to get to that voice, but it was leaving her, and she was sinking into a searing, inky darkness that was drowning and she couldn't breathe properly and her vision was growing dim and -

"_Natasha!"_

Natasha's fierce eyes flew open and she immediately tried to sit up, her breathing labored, but found that something was holding her down. Panic rose up inside of her, but an internal voice told her to look at what was keeping her from springing up and going into killer-mode, as Tony liked to call it. She looked to the left, shivering, covered in a shiny sheen of sweat to see her hawk lying down next to her on his side, an arm slung across her and holding her to him. His eyes were locked on hers, which were scanning the room for any sign of danger, although she knew that there was none.

"Nat," Clint said softly, smiling a small, sad smile at her as she breathed out a sigh of relief and relaxed, and he did so as well, his arm growing limp. "It's okay, you're okay."

Natasha breathed in and out, in and out, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. Whatever composure she'd lost earlier this morning certainly had not returned to her in her sleep. She allowed his whole, solid presence to calm her, to make her feel safe again. The feeling of loneliness had left her, and she complete again. Happy, even. Happily and utterly complete.

She turned and nuzzled her face into his neck, not even caring to go to her duties or glance at the clock or anything. Her arms went and wrapped around him, relaxing further as they got comfortable again. With his left arm draped across her as her eyes closed, Clint breathed in the scent of her hair and began to stroke it with his right in slow, soothing motions till her heard he breathe deep, steady breaths again. She'd been tossing and turning when he had arrived a half hour before he had been expected and he had laid down with her for the past half hour, closing her blinds and making sure she was under the covers with him before she awoke.

After an exhausting and troublesome assassination, Clint was glad that he was lying awake with her, waiting for sleep to overtake him, too. Seeing her, tormented as she was, as much as she hid it, was a painful thing to see indeed. He was glad he'd been able to stop it, for the time being. He knew this was the second time this morning she had been awaken by her memories, and as her partner, it was his duty to make sure she was safe. It was bad enough to know that he hadn't been there the first time she'd woken up, to assure her that he was there, even though he would have been asleep if present. But he was here now, and they were complete again, for the time being.

Clint was comforted by the thought as he drifted off that when his spider woke up later, her hawk would be there.


	3. Contest

Clint and Natasha were arm wrestling in the kitchen, sitting at the island in the middle of the room, and by the looks on their faces, the rest of the world didn't matter.

Watching the two do anything was quite entertaining, whether it be banter, sparring, or something as mundane as arm wrestling.

When it was on an early, rainy, Saturday afternoon in New York City - a jobless early, rainy, Saturday afternoon - it was more entertaining then usual.

The Black Widow and Hawkeye appeared equally matched. They both were agile, strong, and capable. They both hated losing, they both refused to go down without a fight - fair or not - and they preferred to go down trying to best the other. But Natasha had a gut feeling who would win and who would lose, as did Clint. They both had their own opinions about who would come out the winner and who would be planning their revenge.

They had an audience, on this rainy afternoon.

Thor, by request, was watching silently from behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area, his eyes locked on the two. His earlier outburst of "A show of strength and wit!" had nearly startled Natasha - _nearly_. He didn't expect either to win or lose: speculation often took away the fun for him, so he merely didn't guess and simply watched.

Pepper was sitting next to Tony on the counter in front of Thor, though her eyes were not on the two in front of her. She expected Natasha to pull something - no one as predictable as she was. But Clint did appear to be stronger, being both a master of his bow and his patience Instead of watching intently like the rest, she had a book in her lap, although she was aware of what was going on and waiting for a telltale sign that one had bested the other - mainly, a shout, a cheer, a boo, a jeer, or a death threat. As childish as this was, she needed to be there in case Tony got himself killed by either the Black Widow or Hawkeye - more likely Natasha.

She suspected all or at least most of all of the above.

Tony was watching intently, adding his own commentary to the whole scene every so often for his own pure entertainment, aggravating the assassins as they tried to beat the other in this contest of strength. He was enjoying himself quite a bit, and his money was on Clint. Of course, he and present company - excluding the two women making sure no one got assassinated in their sleep - had placed bets on which assassin would come out the winner. This sort of thing was customary on a dreary afternoon such as this one, especially in icky January weather.

Jane - who was visiting for a few weeks, helping Pepper around the tower and getting to know the rest of the Avengers - was sitting next to Pepper, her legs swinging back and forth, bumping against the cupboards below, interrupting the silence that would have been. Honestly, she didn't know who would win. She was secretly rooting for Natasha, although she suspected that Clint would win - but it was so hard to tell. Plus, she had only been around for a few days. She barely knew these people's strengths and weaknesses, and following Pepper's actions, she had not been willing to place any sort of bet on any assassin that might or might not get her back for doing something as stupid as betting. At least, that was their opinion.

Steve was betting on Clint. He was leaning up against the counter across from Jane, arms crossed, a grin on his face. He remembered kids placing bets when he was a child when two would begin a street brawl. This was much more exciting than a street brawl, though. Clint's strength was an obvious factor in the question of who would be the winner or loser. Natasha's agility would not usually come into play in a situation such as this one.

Bruce, who was sitting by Thor on a bar stool, had bet on Natasha. It was only logical because, like Pepper, he suspected she'd pull something and beat her partner in a game of determination and strength. Both were competitive in little things like this and it was almost as entertaining as reading something that involved his scientific work. The 'other guy' seemed to like this, and since it was calm enough that only two people were in it for the sheer fun (or at least he hoped it was for the sheer fun of it) of it, he was okay with it, occasionally glancing at a magazine in his lap.

"Come on, Robin Hood," Tony said after a few more minutes of silence. This had been going on for nearly an hour, and Pepper was surprised that he hadn't gotten bored of it and pushed one of the assassin's buttons so far that they cracked and either resigned from the contest to kill him or finally have the burst of fury needed to win against the other. "You going soft on us now? She's winning! Wait, you're not letting Spider Girl win, are you?"

Natasha's eyes flashed, mirroring her partner's own. They usually didn't let the other win. And in this case, they were only taking care of themselves. There was no need to go easy on the other. With this identical thought, they both put more effort - past their maximum - into winning, their arms shaking slightly. Pepper feared for the granite top's safety; she'd seen them take down entire buildings before without meaning to.

As much as he would have loved to have ordered his friend to shut up, Clint remained silent, his teeth grinding together in annoyance. Too bad he was busy; if he wasn't, he would have tried to deck Tony.

"Or is it you, Spidey?" Tony asked, a smirk on his face. "Are you even trying?"

"Tony," Pepper warned softly, knowing it was no use.

"Oh, come on, you know one of them will let the other win - "

In a split second decision, both Natasha and Clint had broken apart and in what seemed like a flash Tony was face down in the counter, his nose radiating pain as the others leaped up and watched as the two assassins pinned him onto the counter.

"Shut. Up. _Stark_," Natasha hissed, taking pleasure in the sight of his bloody nose. It wasn't broken, she was sure - she hadn't heard the telltale crack.

"Let me up! Hey, let me up you two!" Tony said, although he knew what had been coming, but actually hadn't expected them to snap.

Pepper stood next to Jane, shaking her head as the others grinned knowingly while Natasha and Clint exited the kitchen, leaving Tony to get himself to roll off the counter and onto the tiled floor with a solid _thump_, making a face at his ruined suit, the bleeding already stopped.

"You saw that coming," Jane said, turning away and heading towards the living area, Thor following, chuckling behind her.

"Yeah, but I didn't expect them to ruin my suit!" Tony complained.

Steve and Bruce left, also shaking their heads, left to their own devices, leaving Pepper alone with the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

"What did you expect, then?" Pepper asked, helping him up.

Tony didn't reply, frowning at the sight of his shirt, jacket, and tie.

Pepper frowned. She walked away from him, rolling her eyes at the frustrated sound that escaped him when she headed into the hallway. She passed Natasha and Clint in the hall. They were both dressed in their gear but heading towards the gym.

"We're going to spar," Clint supplied as they got closer to the end of the hall. "We tried out best not to kill him, sorry for the mess, Pepper!" he called over his shoulder, leaving her line of sight, with a wry smile on her face.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint were fighting back their laughter as they entered the gym after racing each other like children down a flight of stairs. It had been totally worth it to end their little contest to shut Tony up.

"We should do that again sometime," Natasha said, preparing to pounce as her partner readied himself for combat.

"Agreed," he replied, and allowed her the first strike.


	4. Valentine

Clint was nervous.

Hawkeye, master archer and one of the bests assassin that the world would ever know, was _nervous_, because of something so mundane and - and - _normal. _Getting excited or anxious about a mission or target was normal. It was expected of all agents, usually rookies, but it happened even to the most experienced at the oddest of the times. And rarely did odd times happen, but when they did, bad timing was also involved - that, thankfully, was not the case here.

Clint did _not_ get nervous.

But he was.

He really was.

He was uncomfortable - yes, he preferred that word. He deemed it more appropriate in this situation, in a situation like this.

Clint knew he ought not to be nervous, though. He was always calm, collected - he knew what to do at the worst of times when his team got caught or if he and Natasha were in trouble. But here he was, on February 14th, half-past eight, watching the rain outside fall into the river down, down below.

Clint and Natasha were in New York City - of course - but they weren't in Stark Tower, or at his own Valentine's Day part - which he probably wasn't even at (he had dedicated the whole day to Pepper and had spent most of it with her and only her) - but at a private party full of S.H.I.E.L.D agents. They all had received the night off because of the destruction of Manhattan - it had been wearisome during and in the aftermath. Besides, a lot of them had requested this.

Clint was standing in a darkened corner as the ending of a fast, fun song neared. He was dressed in a fancy suit Tony had decided to pick out for him. It made him feel strange. He'd had a tux that he'd always used on missions but Tony, of course, had set fire to it and gotten him another one - a _much_ more expensive one.

And then he saw her.

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful..._

She was dressed in black dress that was like a collar around her neck, but was sleeveless, and it's length was mid-thigh. He could have sworn that he saw her _glow_, but maybe it was just her makeup, the way her eyes seemed more alive, how her skin looked as smooth as porcelain, how her hair, done up in a simply, twisted bun, seemed to radiate scarlet.

It was safe to say that the hawk had his breath stolen away by the spider walking towards him.

For once, Natasha looked relaxed. Her composure wasn't stony and emotionless, but she wasn't faking the ease which had slipped into her step as the faint clicking of heels finally reached his ears while she stopped in front of them. In the dimmed lights, where they were, he felt like they were alone. They didn't have a lot of alone time and he felt like they'd deserved this moment - especially_this_ moment.

Soon, slower, smoother music started and he had to control himself not to start swaying.

"Agent Barton," she greeted him with a nod and a faint, soft smile.

He returned her smile with a grin that - although he didn't know it - made her heart do a funny thing. "Agent Romanoff," he said. "Can I say you're just breathtaking?" He was doing his best not to act nervous. Their relationship was nearly unshakable. It wasn't _love_, but they were _partners_ - but they refused to call it love.

He wasn't looking for love tonight.

Natasha restrained the urge to blush and quelled the anxiousness - _she would never call it nervousness _- rising within her.

"May I have this dance, Agent?" he asked her.

"You may, Agent," she replied, and he took her hand, lifting it up into the air, and put his other hand on her waist with hers on his shoulder, and they began to sway, not even paying attention to the steps. This was a slow dance - they could just stay in the corner all night, if they wanted.

After a few moments, and they were comfortable, Natasha hesitantly rested her head against his shoulder, breathing him in and feeling so much better yet so much worse about this whole thing. Her heartbeat was slightly elevated and she hoped to God that he didn't notice, while he worried that she would be able to hear his as if it were bells to a clock tower.

"Nat," he said after a moment.

"Clint?"

"Thanks for dancing with me."

She smiled softly, closing her eyes. "Your welcome."

"I'm glad I did."

It went without saying that Natasha was perfectly content with Clint for the rest of the night like this.

Clint swallowed nervously. "Can I ask you something, Nat?"

"Yes," she said, a bit of uncertainty creeping in. He shouldn't have had to ask her that. He could ask her anything. They were partners who put their lives in each other's hands - Clint rarely ever had to ask.

So what was he getting at?

"Will you..."

She waited. Patience was not Natasha Romanoff's strength, but she would try and be patient for him. So she waited as he tried to put his words together. It made her wonder, though, and panic slightly.

"Will you be my... my -"

He swallowed again and cleared his throat. Why was this so hard? Was it supposed to be? Was it meant to be that hard for everyone, or just trained killers who worked for secret government agencies?

Natasha held her breath.

Clint's voice was barely a whisper, but Natasha could hear him loud and clear as he spoke softly into her ear.

"Will you be my valentine, Natasha?"

There was a moment of silence as the hawk waited for the spider's response.

Natasha allowed her breath to escape her lips, and took another, shaky one.

"Of course, Clint - of course I'll be your valentine."


	5. Agony

Everything was _wrong_.

It was _so wrong_, and his partner, the one person he trusted enough to take his life into her hands and keep it as close to her heart as hers was to his, who was _also_ the only person who made everything that _was_ wrong _almost_ right, or at least right enough for him to be able to live in the world that he'd been up against ever since he could remember - that _one_ person wasn't here with him. He was left alone in some sort of cell, slowly losing himself as many, _many_ emotions swam through his head while he struggled with the fact that he was facing whatever that was wrong with him alone, by himself.

Clint was always there for Natasha. He was there for her more than she would ever care to admit to anyone aloud. He helped her through everything, even when she didn't want him to, even when she knew he wasn't able to solve all of their problems - but at least he tried to. He needed to be there for her, he was her partner, he watched her back, he would do anything for her to ensure that she'd be safe or at least get out of all this alive.

But he needed her, too, and she tried to be there, she did - but although it wasn't apparent, he was more closed off than she was. They knew everything about each other, they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves as well as each other, but he was usually the one to offer his support. His past had been nothing like hers, although they shared the same state of mind which had been brought on by their pasts, no matter how different. Clint's cell was padded, cushy - so much like an insane asylum cell, but this was so much worse. He couldn't find the exit.

He couldn't find a door.

Or a secret panel.

Or a window.

Or any of his weapons.

Not even a knife.

He was defenseless.

He felt like he was on the ceiling.

Or was it a wall?

Was he on the floor?

Which surface was the ceiling?

He couldn't tell, couldn't think straight - couldn't do much of anything but sit in a corner - he couldn't tell which one it was - and cradle his head in his hands, rocking himself back and forth gently, slowly.

Brief, stilled, blindingly painful images - of his childhood, of the circus, before S.H.I.E.L.D,_ without Natasha_ - flashed through his mind, making him clench his teeth in an effort to keep quiet, although his calm was leaving him. He had no idea how long he'd been inside this place, wherever it was. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, or even days. He'd woken up here, unable to stand without his hands scrambling to find a place to grip on the smooth, cold, cushioned walls. His legs would give out after a few seconds of struggling, there was nothing he could hold on to, and he had no idea how long he'd be in here. He could remember gun shots, a needle's sharp jab, shouts, and someone - undoubtedly Nat - furiously and frantically shouting his name as blackness overtook him.

Now here he was. How long ago had that been? Did Natasha know where he was? Because he sure didn't, and him not knowing was making panic slip in slowly past his broken defenses. He knew he'd been drugged, but with what - a toxin, a poison, an overdose of something - he did not know. He was scared, for one of the first times since his childhood, and he was alone in this. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't tired, he wasn't anything - but there was one thing he would have liked to have, one thing he needed. Said thing was his partner, his spider - and she wasn't here. He was. She wasn't. The hawk feared he could be dying - maybe whatever he'd been given killed him slowly. Or maybe that was just how it made him think. Maybe it was just going to make him think he was dying, maybe all it did was fill his head with panicky delusions.

Clint looked around his cell, failing to see an exit once again, and swallowed around a lump in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut again, and tried to block it out - tried to block everything out, every memory, every thought - because it brought back waves of guilt, pain, remorse, and it was so much more overwhelming with the drug in his system. His nightmares, his sleepless nights - the only reason why he still slept was the same reason Agent Romanoff did. They needed each other's company, they depended on the other's in existence so they each could be complete - and she was just what he needed.

But Clint could only sit and hide from his demons, hoping that his partner would find him sooner rather than later.

He had no idea how much longer he would last as wave after wave after wave of emotion hit him.

* * *

Natasha was beyond angry. Her composure had been broken as soon as Clint had been dragged away from her by armed guards, and she had been left to go on a killing spree instead of only a simple on-and-out mission (with no unnecessary kills). She had killed nearly every man and woman she could find, uncaring of who they were or what their position was. After that moment, seeing one of the burly guards, who looked about six eggs short of a dozen, inject him with something, and he'd immediately stopped his struggle to join his partner in combat.

Now nearly everyone was dead. Blood was smeared on the walls, where other kills had been clean. Her hands had been the cause of many deaths this night, but she wasn't done yet. In front of her sat a young woman, dressed in very much a way like a scientist was, with her glasses, lab coat, and dressy clothes, bleeding slowly - painfully from wounds that would kill her slower than a snail would cross a road.

"Tell me where he is," Natasha hissed, pulling out a knife from her belt (she'd broken her other two killing everyone else), twirling it between her fingers without effort.

The woman, soaked in blood and ties to a chair, glanced out the window of the skyscraper they were in. The sun was beginning to rise. Soon, aid would come from either the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D, and she wanted neither. She would do this on her own.

"He's fine," the woman replied smoothly, her eyes returning to the assassin in front of her like she wasn't about to die. Her English accent seemed to mock her, and it only heightened the adrenaline and ferocious, unmatched anger that seared her very being. "As long as you get to him in time. Before his mind leaves him, of course."

The smirk on the beautiful, crazy, lab-tech's face was enough to make Natasha smirk right back.

She would make her tell her, eventually - before Clint's mind "left him". She could not deny that her worry for him had escalated.

She pushed every thought aside except for one: extract the information in any way she could, and find her partner.

* * *

Clint's head was hurting. His heart was beating too loudly in his ears. His mind was getting to him, the memories kept on going, and he was worried that the only was out of this was giving up. He knew his spider wouldn't, would never, not until the end - not even in the very end would she, he figured. But he was considering it. Oh, and what a temptation it was. To simply stop fighting it and let himself slip away in a dark abyss that had nearly swallowed him up several times since waking up when the memories, the emotions, when everything had been to much for his mind, when panic reigned free and wreaked havoc on his body and mind, making him feel like a helpless child.

How long had he been in here?

How much longer of this could he take?

When would this _end_?

Did Natasha forget him?

_No_.

She wouldn't.

She would _never_.

_...right_?

Where was she?

Had she been killed?

Had she been taken as well?

There were too many scenarios that ended badly that he tried to shut out, but every since scenario he could possibly conjure up played before his eyes while he was unable to do anything about it. He was losing the fight against the drug - whatever it was - and he was beginning to accept the possibility that he would not see his fiery redhead ever again, and she would find her hawk dead, on the ground, and in his last moments he'd been nothing more than a cowardly, sniveling -

"Clint!"

The familiar voice sent a wave of anguish through his body, and he refused to look up. Was his sanity finally leaving him? Was this the end? If a delusion of Natasha Romanoff - _Natalia Romanova _- was his last form of torment, then so be it.

"Clint, look at me!"

He did not look up. He could not, would not.

He heard soft murmurs in Russian and sensed a presence - it couldn't be solid, could it? - in front of him.

"_Clint_," her voice was thick with her own panic, her own worry - so unlike the woman he knew. He felt her hand on his head, and it lolled to the side, but he still his his face behind his hands, and he felt something sharp enter his neck briefly and then it was yanked out. What had that been? Another drug? The antidote? A poison?

Soft, familiar hands found his own and yanked them away from his face.

Clint refused to open his eyes as those same, excruciatingly familiar hands cupped his face. He knew she was cursing in Russian, which she only did when she was panicking without letting anyone know but him.

"Nat," he said softly, "I know you're not real."

There was a harsh intake of breath before she began murmuring softly in Russian again, although it sounded broken. He was too overwhelmed to figure out what she was saying.

He was given a harsh shake, and her next he actually listened to.

_"Мой ястреба, открой глаза."_

_My hawk, open your eyes._

_"сейчас."_

_Now._

He slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring down at familiar, S.H.I.E.L.D-issued boots. He slowly lifted his head and allowed himself to stare openly at the fiery Russian in front of him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he was speechless.

Natasha's eyes were wild with panic and fury. Her uniform was blood-spattered. Her cheeks with flushed. Her curls were unruly. And she looked positively _pissed off_.

She dropped to her knees as he watched her carefully, trying to blink away the stinging behind his eyes. Her eyes locked with Clint's, and gave him a brief nod, the panic still in her eyes, her body tense. With a slight sigh of defeat, Clint dropped forward and right into the arms of his partner.

The last words he heard before blacking out from whatever she'd given him were comforting, jumbled words in Russian. Natasha was real. She was safe. And she'd found him.

* * *

Natasha relaxed, stilling holding her partner, content with just sitting there with his head buried in the crook her her neck, blissfully unconscious. She continued speaking to him under her breath, even though he couldn't hear her. She'd killed every last person in this building, leaving none alive.

All the spider could think about, for the moment, was that she had her hawk back.


	6. Idiocy

"You're an idiot, Stark." Natasha and Clint both glared at Tony, standing in front of his huge plasma screen, blocking his view of whatever muted cartoon was on.

"You're not exactly a brainiac yourself there, Natty," Tony replied easily, sitting on the couch, hands locked behind his head, feet up on the coffee table, a smirk on his face. "So why am I an idiot this time?"

"You hacked the CIA's database - _again_. Fury's mad at _us_ for what you did," Clint scowled down at the genius, his arms crossed over his chest.

"So?"

Natasha stepped towards him, but Clint grabbed her arm with his, giving her a warning look. "Stand down," he hissed at her.

A growl escaped her throat but she stepped away.

Tony was enjoying this more than he should.

And he should know by know - after a month living with the world's most dangerous assassins - not to enjoy pissing off either of them.

_Especially_ Natasha.

"Tell him you're sorry."

Tony's smirk vanished, and a pout replaced it.

"Why should I?"

"Unless you want her to murder you, you'd better what they say, Stark!"

The three of them turned just in time to see Steve walking out of the kitchen, sending a wave over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway.

"The wise man has spoken," Clint said, "now do as he says or God so help you - "

"I don't need God's help," he interrupted, grinning up the two assassins. "I'll call him, though, if I do."

Natasha's eyes narrowed.

Tony lost his grin.

"Say. You're. Sorry."

"No."

"Stark!"

"You heard me, Spidey! Answer's still no! That goes for you, Robin Hood!"

Clint let go of Natasha's arm, and Tony's eyes widened.

"I'll give you five seconds Stark... one... two..."

Tony was up and out of the living room before Natasha counted to three, and at five, she ran off, leaving Clint behind, shaking his head.

Sighing, the archer decided to find Stark before Natasha killed him.

"Idiot," he muttered, walking out of the room and heading in a random direction, wondering if he would find Tony alive or not.

"Yeah, he's definitely an idiot."


	7. Waltz

Clint and Natasha stood in the principal's office, side by side, their eyes trained on the all high and mighty, gray-haired woman in front of them who was assessing them over the rims of her square frames. Clint found this situation amusing, being in the principal's office was something that he'd never got to experience as a child. The equivalent to this would be getting a lecture from Fury after screwing up on a mission. Natasha just found it aggravating She had an assignment to get on with - and her class started in fifteen minutes. They needed to get down to the gym, and _soon_.

"So."

Both assassins straightened a bit, but not obviously so. They didn't want to freak out Mrs. Walter. That would be a bad idea. They'd blow the entire "mission" if they did anything extremely _out of character_, as Fury had put it. They were both dressed in civilian disguise: Natasha wore a bright pink jacket, a white t-shirt, black leggings, and running shoes, her red hair tied back into a loose pony tail, a few strands framing her face; Clint had on "reading glasses" with thick rims, a sweater vest (Nat had nearly died laughing when he'd fist tried it on) and jeans, his outfit also accompanied by running shoes. Their ensemble had been assembled before they had even received the assignment - this whole thing was ridiculous.

In one of his hands Clint held his Boston Red Sox baseball cap (it was actually _his_; Coulson had given it to him a year before the Avengers incident. Natasha had a few folders tucked under one arm - and the bulk of papers that she'd been told to carry around (it was pointless to do so, seeing as how they were here for this Friday and this Friday only) was growing heavier by the second. Pretending to be something you weren't really sucked sometimes.

_Honestly_, an _assassination_ sounded better to them both, but they hadn't really gotten a _choice_ in the matter.

"You're the two guest instructors that Mr. Stark so highly recommended?"

Natasha nearly cringed at the mention of the bastard's name. It was his fault - of course - that they were here in the first place: evidently, he was supposed to come in and give an instruction on _dancing_ (it was no wonder why Stark had skipped out on it, even though it had been for the lone purpose of the Avengers' publicity) this cold, dreary Friday. Fury wanted the world to warm up to the Avengers - slowly, like, snail-worthy slowly - and since Tony had bailed on his brilliant plan, he - instead, at _Tony's request_ - had two undercover agents come in his place, saying that they _represented _the Avengers - what a load of crap: they were _two of the freaking Avengers!_

"He said that?" Clint asked finally, a small, polite smile forming on his lips. "Nice guy."

Natasha nearly scoffed, but kept her expression as polite as she possibly could.

"I hope you two will follow school expectations," Mrs. Walter began, "I think it's important that our middle school students had some insight on the wonders that can be learned through dancing. It teaches rhythm, patience, dignity - you understand, I presume?"

School expectations? Pfft - she should see the kids sometime. She would probably have a heart attack if she saw how little the kids here cared for the school's glorious expectations.

"Of course, ma'am," Clint said. His long-time partner restrained herself from sharing a glance with him as she noticed the mocking undertone now present in his voice. How was it that he could act so civil around this woman? She acted like she was _above them_ - but then again, that usually happened when they were undercover, no matter what, right? "I think we should get down to the gym - we don't want to miss teaching the kids, do we?"

"Yes, I agree," Natasha butted in _just as_ the older, hoity-toity Mrs. Walter opened her mouth to reply, "We don't want to be late."

"Mr. Peters, Ms. Crane - you are dismissed."

An inaudible, mock-sigh of relief escaped Clint's lips as Natasha turned and was the first one out the door and into the hall way, and soon they were walking together, dreading the fact that they had to teach seventh period dance lessons (who knew that they could fit twenty kids from each grade in each gym class?).

"Tony's gonna pay for this," Clint muttered, shoving the gym door open, Natasha following as it slammed shut behind them.

"I second that," Natasha said, setting her things down on the bleachers - Clint's hat was back on his head - and sitting down just as the bell rang and the eruption of noise outside nearly made them groan. No wonder teachers popped pain killers on a daily basis here. These middle school kids were rowdy, loud, talkative, and a bit insane, to put it mildly.

Clint plopped down on the bench beside her, watching as students slowly began filing in towards the locker room doors, most of them shooting curious or suspicious glances towards their "instructors".

Good lord.

Soon, a herd of kids of all sorts were sitting in groups - by grades, the assassins suspected - and they both stood, and the room, that had been filled with obnoxiously loud laughter and conversation, grew silent.

"Welcome," Clint finally said loudly, his voice echoing about the room as a grin spread on his face. His hands were crossed over his chest, and although he grinned, he appeared strict, stern. "I know you all probably don't want to be here - and frankly, I don't want to hear it."

Natasha and Clint both knew how middle schoolers acted.

Now it was her turn.

"You will all pick a partner - I do not care who it is as long as you respect that other person and follow our instructions to the point where you're _not_ screwing up on purpose. Are we clear?"

When silence met her ears, she glared at them all, her arms also folding over her chest. An eyebrow rose up expectantly, and a chorus of grumbling reached her ears.

Good enough.

In a matter of minutes, the entire class had partners. Clint and Natasha were roaming about the gym, making sure students were holding hands (some seemed utterly disgusted by the content, which provided evidence that a lot of the girls and guys here didn't seem to get along), guys hands were on the girl's waists (instead of hovering or any lower), and that girls' hands were on their partner's shoulders. Some kids protested the formal position of the dance at first, but after a glare from "Ms. Crane" and a few uttered words from "Mr. Peters" they were all soon cooperating, although it was getting more and more tempting to shoot something as the minutes ticked slowly by. Once they were in position, Clint and Natasha stood at the center of the gym, also in position - but appeared much more regal than the students did, making them look at their instructors with unveiled suspicion and curiosity.

"Now, we're going to start with a box step," Natasha announced. "Girls, watch me - boys, watch my partner."

When she had all the students' attention (they seemed to get that she was scarier than she let on; this amused Clint to no end), she began to speak loudly, clearly, and slowly.

"Girl's: move backward with your left foot, on your toes, and then draw back your right, and then slide your foot over, and..."

* * *

By the time they were in the twirling stage, the bell was about to be rung, and the chosen couples forced together had actually gotten the dance right. Clint and Natasha had gone around correcting people's steps, walking them through it - and it hadn't been as bad as they had honestly thought it would be, but Stark was still so gonna pay for this.

When the bell finally rang, Clint and Natasha dismissed the class immediately, plopping themselves down on the bleachers. They were pretty tired (even though it had only been fifty minutes) and both of them had the beginnings of bad headaches. As the gym slowly emptied and then refilled - because it was after school - Natasha's eyelids had grown considerably heavier and she was now leaning up against Clint's side, her head on his shoulder.

The only upside to this whole thing was that A.) they got paid, B.) Tony was indeed going to get it, and C.) the hawk and the spider hadn't had to dance with anyone else besides themselves.

But it was safe to say that they wouldn't want to dance the waltz any time soon.


	8. Pizza

**This is a short one :D**

* * *

"Are you okay, Nat?"

Clint sat across from his partner at the table, the normal sounds of a Manhattan pizza parlor buzzing around them in the background. The fiery redhead held her head in her hands, her elbows on the smooth tabletop.

"No."

"What happened today, Nat?"

Nine o'clock was nearing. It had taken him until day had fallen into darkness for him to find Natasha. Which was something, because usually he had no trouble finding her location.

"Shopping happened."

Clint had to grin. "Pepper and Jane took you, right?"

"Don't you dare," she groaned, her head falling onto the table with a thud.

"It couldn't have been that bad, Tasha," he said, leaning back in his seat, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

"You don't know the half of it, Clint," she moaned, "they shoved **six** dresses into my face an hour before lunch."

"Dresses aren't that bad."

"Say that again, Clint."

Although she couldn't see it, he was smirking at her. If she'd seen it, she'd be chasing him around the pizza place trying to murder him with her soup spoon. Thinking of that brought a mystery to light.

Why would a pizza parlor have **soup spoons**?

"Dresses aren't that - "

"Finish that sentence and I just might have to kill you."

He snorted. "I'd love to see you try," he said, his eyes dancing. "So besides shopping for dresses, what else almost killed you?"

"The shoes."

His eyebrows shot up. "The shoes."

Natasha lifted her head off the table, her red locks mussed, and she glared at him, waving her hands comically as she began to speak.

"_Yes_, Clint - the shoes! I swear to God, I have never tried on so many stilettos, or boots, or ridiculous - ugh!" With an uncharacteristic groan of frustration her head met the table again.

"And all those shirts and skirts... there is no such thing as shopping for fun, Clint - **no such thing**."

"If you say so, Nat."

"I do say so, Clint."

Clint spied the piece of all-veggies pizza on her plate, stole glance at her, and took it off her plate.

"You didn't."

Clint took a huge bite and grinned down at her.

"Clint, tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what, Nat?"

"You stole my veggie-lover's pizza."

He took another large bite and said around a mouthful of yummy goodness that was Natasha's favorite kind of pizza, "Never said anything, Nat."

She slowly raised her head, and grabbed her soup spoon.

Clint raised his eyebrows and abruptly stood up. Natasha did the same, soup spoon in hand.

"Give it back."

"No."

"Give it **back**, Clint," she growled, her eyes narrowing dangerously. He only laughed.

He took another bite and laughed when he lunged at him, dodging her "attack" easily.

He sprinted out the door, with her in close pursuit.

Clint wished Natasha luck with trying to murder him with a soup spoon.


	9. Movie

Tony sat with Clint and Natasha on the couch. It was Friday night. They hadn't had any save-the-world duties since New York, and it was Friday night. Natasha and Clint had just returned from a covert mission assigned to them by Fury (who wanted to keep them on their toes) and frankly, it had been easier than training. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn in front of the movie "Tucker And Dale Vs. Evil", something Tony had begged them to watch.

Clint and Natasha were no strangers to gore or violence, but this had been just plain hilarious. They had expected Tony to have a horribly taste in movies. Frankly, he did. But this? This was admittedly funny.

Tony had gone on and on and on about how awesome this movie was, that it was full of humor and gore and awesomeness. Clint had already planned on seeing with Tony before he and his partner had left for an easy in-and-out mission. It had been a different matter, however, when it came to convincing the Black Widow to sit down and enjoy a movie with them. They both had gleefully bothered her about it since she'd gotten up that morning (having returned late last night) and it had been Tony's threats to booby trap her room that had finally gotten her to decide to spend around two hours with them on the couch in front of the plasma TV screen.

After the movie, they were silent for a moment.

"So, Spider-Girl."

Natasha frowned at the nickname

"Did you like it?"

"It was okay," she said.

Clint grinned.

"It was hilarious, Tony. Now hold up your end of the deal."

Tony blew out a sigh.

"Fine. Natty, I promise to not booby trap your room. Happy?"

Natasha stood, giving Clint a pointed look before walking away from them.

"Don't bother her for the rest of the night, and I promise you she won't kill you in your sleep - or try to for a week," Clint told him.

"I can totally handle that," Tony grinned at him.

"Next time, let's get her to play Jenga!"

* * *

**Been running out of ideas lately. Suggestions are welcome (as of now)!**


	10. Trap

"You set the trip wire, didn't you?" Natasha asked Clint as they watched from around the corner, waiting for Tony to come through the kitchen doorway at any moment.

"Oh course I did, Tasha," Clint said, grinning like a fool. "Do you doubt my skills?

"Do I have a reason to?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Of course not," Clint replied. "You checked the net, right?"

"Pepper advised us not to do that." She didn't want to have to lug a heavy net all around the tower in order to throw it away.

Clint chuckled, seeing the devious glint in the fiery redhead's eye. Revenge on Tony was probably the best thing they'd done all week long. Seeing as how both of them were pulling a well-deserved yet _mild_ prank, no one was going to come through that kitchen doorway any time soon. Steve and Bruce had offered to help out, of course - maybe had a few elements of fire or electricity, but Clint and Natasha had declined their offers. Thor, of course, had marveled the idea of a  
"prank" (more like a trap, though) and inquired about it. Clint had gladly explained "the odd ways of earthlings" while Pepper tried not to laugh about it when Tony was around.

Jane, of course, had encouraged Natasha to go as far as she wanted, after all that Tony had done to everyone, but had warned them he might get Fury to send them on some mission to a desert and strand them there till they said they were sorry.

Jane was probably right.

Oh well.

"We should had added firecrackers," Clint muttered.

"Jane said not to," Natasha said, her eyes trained on the doorway, a small, proud smile on her face.

"But Pepper said we could, Nat."

"Clint."

"I - "

"_Clint_. He's coming!"

Her voice had been lowered to a harsh whisper. He scowled but kept silent. They shrank away, out of sight.

They could hear Tony humming some rock n' roll as he strutted into the kitchen like he was the freaking king of the universe (more like kind of Stark Tower). They watched, holding their breath, trying to contain their laughter as Tony walked right into the trip wire. There was a soft _click!_ when the small wire tied into a loop ensnared his right ankle, jerking him off the ground and upside down.

They burst into laughter, and his head snapped to the side. Upside down, he was simply hilarious.

This was so worth possibly getting stranded in a desert.

"Clint - !" he shouted.

Laughter echoed all around him as Clint and Natasha came from around the corner.

"You two are dead," he threatened, flailing his arms till he found the wire around his ankle. "Help me down! Now!"

"Do it yourself," Natasha said, grabbing Clint's arm and pulling him away. He was still laughing, with his hand over his mouth. But that didn't help the snickers that Tony obviously heard.

"Where are you two going?" Tony shouted.

"Archery range, Tasha?" Clint offered, unable to stop laughing.

"Sure thing," Natasha said lightly.

"Get me down! Pepper! Clint! Don't let Spider-Girl win!"

Clint shouted something over his shoulder, but by then he was too far away for Tony to make it out.

Tony hung there, incredulous.

Operation: Strand them in a desert till they apologized to him for this was officially started...

as soon as someone let him down.

"Pepper!"

* * *

**Hope06: thanks for the idea :)  
yellowblaze101: thanks for the advice!**


	11. Cook

"I don't want to cook, Legolas." Tony gave Clint a childish look.

"Well _she's_ certainly not going to," the archer gestured to Natasha, who was playing against Thor, Jane, and Pepper in an intense game of go-fish in the living room. "And **I** cooked last night."

"Let's get Capsicles to do it, then," Tony said, grimacing at the very **thought** of making his own - and other's - food. The idea was appalling.

"He cooked lunch. Twice."

"So?"

"Clint! It's your turn!" Natasha called from the living room.

"That's my cue," Clint grinned at the incredulous, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

"You have to help me!" Tony wailed, glaring as Clint turned, so he could be seated next to Natasha - and undoubtedly kick her butt once again at this game. No matter what, she always lost to him at go-fish. Imagine that: one of the world's deadliest assassins, beaten at _go __fish_.

Well, it was true.

"No!"

"Sorry, Tony," Clint laughed, leaving the man of iron alone in the kitchen, huffing and puffing at the unfairness of it all.

It was worth getting a poorly made meal about an hour later.

Natasha got to dump cold slop that was _supposed_ to be chili on top of Tony's head - and had ran away before he could go after her.

Yeah, it was totally worth making him cook.

* * *

**This was SO short. ****And I posted this early. See, I didn't feel like writing - I've been watching Naruto and reading fics AS WELL AS my beloved _Redwall_ series (NO ONE KNOWS WHAT THAT IS! YAR!). Well. I'm trying to read _Redwall_ - I'm attempting to get caught up with the fic "The Light Within" by Sherrywine, but OH MY GOD,**

** I don't want to do ANYTHING. I'm just not in that mood, y'know? Even though I FINALLY get my spring break.**

**So.**

**Ideas, anyone? I'm open to _ALMOST _anything.**


	12. Traveling

"I can't believe talked me into this, Stark." Natasha glared at the back of Tony's headrest. Her arms were cross over his chest, and her eyes were alight with something dangerously close to annoyance.

"Yeah, Tony, I had better things to do," Clint chimed in. But he was still grinning. He looked uncomfortable, squished in between his partner and Bruce in the middle seat of the van.

"Like what - Natasha?"

Natasha stiffened at Tony's remark, and Pepper, in front seat, next to Tony, was twisted around in the passenger seat to smirk back at Clint, who was smirking right back, sighed.

"Didn't I tell you not to say anything about that?"

Tony snorted, and opened his mouth to reply, but then Thor spoke up.

"What does Tony mean, 'like Natasha'? How does one 'do' a 'Natasha'?"

And this, of course, sent Tony into a fit of laughter, and Bruce merely pinched the bride of his nose, settling for staring out the window, his eyes following the trees and the farm fields that they passed, alarmingly fast.

Usually it was just Tony who went over the speed limit - but sometimes, when Pepper was being distracted (by said boyfriend) she tended to go a little too fast.

"Thor, buddy, you don't need to know - " Clint began, but Tony cut him off with a guffaw.

"Thor, old pal," he said, wiping tears off his cheeks (his face was rather red, redder than Natasha's hair), "it means he's _banging_ her."

"So help me - " Natasha leaned across Clint to reach out and grasp Tony by the collar of his shirt, jerking him towards her with a furious snarl. "Tony, if you want to ever _speak _again - because, I think of more than a _few_ creative ways to get rid of your vocal chords - I will advise you to _shut your god damn mouth_."

Then, while proceeding to swear at him in Russian (Clint snickered at whatever she said; this only made Ton suspicious), she shoved him back, so he slammed into the passenger seat's door's window, and Bruce even sniggered at this.

"Hey!" Tony narrowed his eyes, waving a finger at Banner. "Don't you start on me, science boy!"

Bruce only raised his eyebrows.

And Tony only served to frown.

"Tony, what does it mean to be 'banging'?"

Bruce sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought you explained it to him, Clint."

"I gave that job to Tony - "

"_Clint!_" Natasha glared at him, and he gave her a rueful grin.

"What? I was drunk! He wasn't, so I figured he'd remember!"

Bruce sighed, and shook his head.

"Thor, don't worry about it. Tony, shut up before Natasha kills you. Clint - _explain it to him _when we get back. Natasha - just - just don't _kill him_. Not until I get him back for calling 'science boy'."

Tony smirked.

"I can't _wait_ to see you try, buddy boy."

Natasha rolled her eyes, while Clint smirked (in the least appropriate way) and elbowed Bruce in the side, making him grimace. But the fact that his cheeks were flushed didn't go unnoticed - especially by Thor. Thor was grinning from ear to ear.

Pepper just rolled her eyes.

"Tony - _uncalled for_." Natasha was now glaring daggers at the billionaire. He just shrugged.

"Says who?"

"Says _me_, Stark, oh so help me - "

"What're you gonna do, Spider-Man? Curse at me in Russian again?"

Natasha looked dangerously close to ripping out his vocal chords, while Clint just continued nudging Bruce (who Tony was ignoring in favor of bothering the redheaded Russian across him) while waggling his eyebrows, grinning suggestively.

This was one of the reasons Natasha knew that Bruce disliked road trips. Because somehow, they always got to teasing him about -

"Clint, if you don't stop, he's gonna go green."

Bruce gave Tony a tight smile, and merely shook his head.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you."

Tony was grinning more than Clint was.

It made Natasha want to punch him in the face, because Banner really did look uncomfortable. And she did feel bad for him.

"Tony, _stop that_."

"No!" Tony laughed. "This is too much fun!"

"Clint, help me out here?"

Clint stopped min-nudged, and looked over at her.

"Um, no, Tasha, I'm too busy teasing our good friend here about - "

" - Barton, say another world and I'll - "

" - oh, _c'mon_, Spidey! This is so fun!"

"Hey," Bruce said suddenly, looking around. He turned in his seat, to look in the back, where Thor was. "Does anyone know where Cap is?"

"Steve? He's - oh. _shit_ - did we forget Capsicles?"

Pepper reached over, with her eyes on the road, and smacked Tony on the side of the head, receiving a whiny "ow!" while she shook her head and just continued to drive.

"We forgot Steve - " Thor began, but Pepper cut him off.

"Tony, we didn't _forget_ Steve," Pepper said. "He said he'd watch the tower while we were gone."

Everyone's face was covered in a shared expression of relief.

But then, Clint started to smirk, and Natasha groaned.

Tony's eyes widened, and then he turned to Pepper.

"We have to go back! We don't know what the man in striped undies is doing to my tower!"

"He's tepee-ing your place," Clint muttered, and then he and Bruce burst into laughter.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but noticed that the attention had been drawn away from Bruce's flushed cheeks.

Well, almost all of it.

Clint still nudged him, as they continued to drive on, and still waggled his eyebrows as Tony turned in his seat to look at Pepper, and he began to ask her to stop for pizza. Definitely pizza.

Thor, on the other hand, just sat there, grinning at the back of Bruce's head.

This didn't slip Natasha notice, and she huffed out a sigh.

Someone was going to have to remind her why she had even bothered going on this road trip.

(Clint might have had something to do with it, though.)

* * *

**If you got some prompts for these one-shots, I'd be thrilled to try any ideas out! I included a tiny bit of ScienceBros in this... it made this more fun to write ;)  
Please review!**


	13. Coffee-Maker

Bruce, Clint, and Natasha were sitting in the living room, a ways away from the kitchen, discussing their plans for the holidays (because Christmas was only a week away, and Pepper had already planned parties and had set up decorations and had started a Secret Santa thing for them) when Natasha suddenly halted in the middle of her sentence.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her. Clint just sighs, rolls his eyes, and turns around to face the doorway to the kitchen to see Tony meandering into the kitchen.

Natasha started getting to her feet, but Clint beat her to it by yelling at the top of his lungs, "Tony, _we're having a conversation_, don't you d - "

The loud, disjointed, whirring sound the coffee maker started up in the middle of Barton's threat, and Bruce groans, his head sinking into his hands as he slumped back into the cushions of the couch.

He muttered something, but the coffee maker - which is louder than Pepper's vacuum cleaner - drowned it out, and Clint watched Natasha get to her feet.

There was a glare on her face, and her eyes were narrowed - and after a few, long moments of her (Patiently) waiting, the coffee maker shut off. "Stark - " she started, but then he interrupted.

Again.

"Sorry! Can't hear you, Spidey!"

Natasha opened her mouth to spout out curses at him in Russian, but then he turned the coffee maker back on, and then, a few seconds later, it stopped, and Tony's laughter echoed throughout the kitchen and living room.

This time, Bruce spoke before Clint or Natasha could take a step towards the kitchen.

"Tony, I'm going to give you a fair warning since it's the holidays: _run_."

Laughter echoed after Bruce's comment (Tony found this hysterical), as the billionaire turned on the coffee maker - and faster than Natasha and Clint could expect, Tony was bolting towards the stairs.

"Oh no you don't!"

Natasha and Clint immediately tore after him, disappearing from Bruce's view as he groaned.

Tony had left the damn thing on.

_Again_.

* * *

**Thanks to HeartofFyrwinde for the idea :D**


	14. Decisions

The hospital the hospital room was quiet, save for the beeping and whirring of the machines surrounding the bed. Outside, SHIELD agents, every so often, patrolled the hallway, their eyes occasionally sliding to the door, which was being guarded at every cost. Even Tony would come to the door everyone once in a while and shove his head in, just to see if anything had changed, but he never said anything. And no one had to remind him that anything he said just might get him killed - especially since Barton hadn't slept in days, and he was beginning to grow irritated. Jumpy.

Because he and Natasha - they'd been on a mission, her and him. Away from the Avengers team. But it had gone wrong. Horribly wrong, in all of the worst ways. Their information had been faulty, the whole operation had been a setup. The terrorists had played SHIELD as easily as Natasha could level someone with her icy glare. They'd played SHIELD, and because SHIELD hadn't seen it coming - and because of _that_, Natasha was now in the hospital bed, her chest barely rising and falling as the machines around her monitored her poor condition.

There had been a bomb. A bomb no one could have even suspected, even if SHIELD did have more information. And Natasha had been _so close to it_.

She'd shoved him out of the way, and she'd taken a huge part of the blast. Bits of shrapnel had been taken out of her body during surgery, when she had been rushed into the hospital, and bandages had been applied to her wounds and her burns had been tended to.

But even though the doctors had done everything they possibly could have, Natasha still wasn't doing as well as Clint had hoped. Her vital organs had been jumbled and burnt from the explosions; she'd nearly bled out from a tiny sliver of shrapnel that had nicked an artery.

She was on life support, and Clint could do nothing to help her, nothing to save her.

Natasha was _dying_.

It had been days, and he himself had a few wounds that still needed tending to, but he, frankly, hadn't given a damn about his own well being, and in favor of picking a well-being to fret over, he'd chosen Natasha's over his own, because _he_ wasn't hooked up to all those machines, unable to breathe on his own.

It hadn't been very long, but the doctors had already given him a very difficult decision to make, because, no matter how hard they tried, they really couldn't come up with anything new to help her.

They'd given him the choice, since she was the closest thing to - to whatever they needed in order for them to make medical decisions about her since she couldn't make any decisions for herself, for the time being.

He had to choose if she got to die in a hospital or not.

It was actually a simple decision: pull the plug, she probably would die - keep her on life support, she just might live.

But at the same time it _wasn't _so simple, it wasn't simple at all - and it was driving Clint mad, because this was Natasha's _life_ that had been dumped into his hands - the life of one of the only people he entrusted his life to, and she was _dying right before him_ - and he could do nothing but hoped she live and watch her die.

He was guessing that he was going to drink himself to death once he had come to a decision, no matter the outcome. This was different, from the missions and the assignment that SHIELD had given them over time.

He was _more_ than her partner at this point in time, in this _excruciating_, small point in time which seemed to make everything else going on right now _nothing_ to him.

He glanced up at the clock, and he nearly groaned in despair. The doctors would be coming in any minute now to ask him what he had chosen to do.

He grimaced, and let out a slow, shaky breath.

He was thankful Tasha couldn't see him so _unable_ to make this decision for her, but then he remembered what she would do for him. He knew, without a doubt, which choice she would make when it came to _his_ well being.

So that it was it then.

He slouched lower in his seat, one of his partner's hands clasped between his own.

Clint sighed, heavily.

He was going to keep her alive.

Just to see if she would wake up.

Because, Clint realized, she has to.

She _has_ to.

Or else -

Well, he doesn't know what he'll do.

* * *

**Thank you so much to _JoMiSm_ for the prompt/idea for this story. Though my shipper's heart is all broken and funky now but wow I liked writing this. You all should go read her stories, btw. Epic stuff.**

**Cheers, yah?**


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